


Early Days and Late Adjustments

by Randomixx



Series: Brave Hart [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Goodneighbor, Hangman's Alley, The Commonwealth Minutemen, The Memory Den, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomixx/pseuds/Randomixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a dead mercenary comes a boatload of dead ends, and then it gets even better when the only lead Sammie does have proves to be one that will likely end up with her dead. Isn't life in the New World just grand?</p><p>A small collection of one-shots following my Sole Survivor’s life between finding Kellogg and her first foray into the Glowing Sea, with a focus on worldbuilding and exploring the relationships between various groups in the Commonwealth. Please see chapter notes for individual summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reaffirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reformed Commonwealth Minutemen have grown from their humble beginnings in Sanctuary Hills to a loose coalition of towns in the immediate area around Concord, but word doesn’t travel far when large stretches of wilderness in two directions and the ghoul-and-raider-infested ruins of Lexington in a third are keeping them cut off from the rest of the world. When Sammie’s heart causes her to get caught up in a small scuffle, however, events are set in motion to quickly remedy that.
> 
> After all, while the first step towards something great is always the one remembered, it’s the _second_ step that actually matters.

One of the many little things about the new world that Sammie found to be just downright depressing, was how there was no place left for fanfare or celebration, even following the greatest of achievements. Other than downing her remaining Nuka Cola, the walk back to Diamond City included little to no acknowledgement of the feat she and Nick had just accomplished, other than the multiple times they mulled over how lucky they were to be alive.

Not even an enthusiastic licking from Dogmeat had been able to stir up some excitement, because the dog had downright vanished by the time Sammie woke up the following morning. Nick had explained that the dog snuck off when he had his back turned at some point in the early hours, probably satisfied that his work here was done and feeling the call to find and help some other poor soul in need. As such, the day was spent just like any other in the Commonwealth, walking with only light conversation to pass the time, and always on the lookout for raiders, ghouls, or worse.

Since this time they knew where they were going, the sun was only beginning to make progress away from its peak in the sky by the time Boston’s skyscrapers loomed overhead, and when they reached Diamond City, the Pip-Boy reported the time as just before two in the afternoon. The first order of business was naturally a visit to the clinic, having one of the doctors examine the healing of Sammie’s bullet wound and administer some of his own, more professional aid, while the other doctor “examined” Sammie from across the room, thoroughly creeping her out and annoying his colleague to no end with his ceaseless comments on her bone structure.

The prescription was rest and no more gallivanting about rescuing detectives and killing guns-for-hire. A verdict that was not entirely unexpected, and one that Nick absently agreed to while Sammie handed over her caps. They fled as quickly as they could once the transaction was done, because according to the synth, doctor Crocker could get a touch _persistent_ once he got an idea for a facial reconstruction job and often started to forget the meaning of the word “no”.

Ellie was more than just relieved to see them both in one piece once they finally walked into the Agency, citing her happiness on that it would have been terrible luck for her to get Nick back only for Kellogg to kill them both shortly afterwards. Codsworth was there too – all three limbs once again fully operational and overjoyed to see Sammie, the only sign of his run-in with the bear being a crack in the glass over one of his visual sensors. It went without saying that they wanted every detail of what had happened, and so Sammie and Nick were recounting their adventure well into the evening – something Sammie was starting to think may be the Commonwealth’s new equivalent to “celebration” – with more than one detail that sent Ellie’s hands to her mouth and the Mister Handy’s optical apertures wide.

It was about when the suggestion of heading outside to grab dinner at Power Noodles before it got too late was made that the matter of accommodation for Sammie and Codsworth came up.

“Where I’m staying?” Sammie repeated Ellie’s question, stepping out into the alleyway to join her and Codsworth while Nick locked the Agency up behind them. “Er, well I didn’t really think about it to be honest. The Dugout is pretty much all there is unless you get up on the northern wall, from what I’ve gathered.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong.” Nick’s near-baritone of a voice filtered out from the entryway to the Agency, followed soon by the detective himself. Sammie gave him a questioning frown, but was soon ushered along by Ellie and they resumed talking as they walked. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, I’m not exactly in great need of a bed, which means we often have one spare for any clients who might need it for a night or two. You’re welcome to it as long as you need, if you want to save a few caps for food and such.”

Ellie beamed at her, and Sammie actually gaped, looking from Nick to her and back again. “Are you guys serious?”

“Absolutely! We might have to ask you to stay at the Dugout every now and then, just in case someone from further out comes in and needs somewhere to crash a night once we’ve gone over their case’s details, but otherwise you’re free to stay as long as you need,” Ellie explained happily, then started giggling to herself, glancing at Codsworth. “And I’m sure Nick’ll appreciate the company from someone else who doesn’t sleep.”

“Oh! I’ll try my best, Miss Perkins!” Codsworth offered abashedly as they stepped out into the main marketplace. Business had well and truly wound down for the day, so the shopkeepers were now focusing on packing up, save for that one Mister Handy by the general store who kept barking at anyone within a fifty foot radius.

“Well, you couldn’t possibly offer any worse conversation than Percy over there,” Nick drawled, wiggling his fingers at the other robot with a smirk. “Anyway, one noodle cup for each person with an actual stomach, coming right up!”

After a few days of subsisting on Cram, jerky, mac ‘n’ cheese, and the occasional mutfruit, real _actually fresh_ noodles cooked with robotic precision might as well have been the greatest meal Sammie had ever been blessed with.

 

* * *

  

The next handful of days were a much-needed change of pace following the frantic weeks that had led up to them. Sammie was more than happy to listen to Doctor Sun’s advice and take it easy for a bit, to rest and recharge, but not before she and Valentine payed a certain reporter a visit, first.

“Well, well, well. Nicky Valentine walking into _my_ office for a change? To what do I owe the honour?” Piper had said, genuinely surprised to see Sammie and Nick coming to her for advice, yet an undertone of smugness had been present all the same. It vanished in short order, replaced by intrigue and wide-eyed enthusiasm as they explained the situation to her, and Piper was more than happy to keep them occupied for an entire hour, recounting every last grain of dirt and conspiracy theory she had on the Institute. It got them absolutely nowhere, until their throwing around of ideas caused Nick to have a sudden epiphany.

He described to her a place in Goodneighbour called the Memory Den that they could try bringing some of Kellogg’s cybernetics to, while Piper fake-retched in the corner of her office. It was a long shot, but Sammie was so relieved to just finally have a plan in place that she didn’t even complain about being left with the reporter to “pay” her for her help by doing that interview she had kept hinting at throughout the entire brainstorm.

After that, the quiet was actually rather nice. Sammie spent most of her time exploring the town or offering her input when she overheard Nick and Ellie discussing the backlog of cases that had built up in his absence. She was also able to buy some replacement shirts alongside a pair of nice aviators from Fallon’s Basement, and had Arturo look into making some modifications to Righteous Authority using the money she would have otherwise spent on rent.

She didn’t avoid the Dugout in its entirety, however, as the inn also doubled as a bar with a handful of good pub meals for any night when noodles didn’t sound particularly appetising. Of course, the chance to get to know some more of Diamond City’s residents was one she shouldn’t pass up if she was going to be staying for any length of time, either: She caught the two guards she had met earlier, Mav and Jerry, a couple of nights while they were off duty, and Vadim Bobrov took a particular shining to her, recognising her from her earlier stay. With him offering his recommendation to anyone trying to form an opinion on her – whether they wanted it or not – it was kind of impossible _not_ to be introduced to seemingly everyone.

Not surprisingly, the main topic of gossip nowadays was the Brotherhood of Steel and their impressive arrival on that giant zeppelin.

The prevailing attitude _regarding_ it, however, was one that made Sammie decide to keep her mouth clamped firmly shut about her role in retrieving the radio transmitter that had no doubt summoned them in the first place.

“Humphrey Jacob McElhinny! You put that suitcase down and come back inside right this instant!” Sammie had overheard a family yelling at their son in the market one morning, and it wasn’t the only example of such unrest she encountered during her stay.

“No way! You saw that blimp and all those vertibirds! Heard the radio! The traders all say the same things about the Brotherhood: They’ll come in here and kill us all! And then take the reactor under the noodle stand! I ain’t sticking around for it!”

As was often for such events, the confrontation devolved into a shouting match, so she and Codsworth decided to make themselves scarce before Security got involved. But they weren’t speedy enough to avoid overhearing Myrna adding her two caps:

“Listen to your mother, you silly boy! Why would they care about some beaten up reactor? It barely even keeps the stadium lit up at night. No, the Brotherhood are here to do what the Minutemen _should_ have done years ago, and put every last ghoul, mutant, and filthy synth in the ground where they belong! There’s nothing to fear!” The Diamond City Surplus owner’s eyes had suddenly widened a moment later. “Wait… Unless you’re a synth! You’re a synth aren’t you? Yes! _That’s_ why you’re skipping town! I should have known!”

It went without saying that this exchange wasn’t one Sammie recounted to Ellie and Nick over dinner that night.

Diamond City also had other problems lurking beneath the shiny-and-safe surface that Sammie started picking up on. Everyone seemed to have some issue that needed dealing with, and it had soon become apparent that there was some significant class prejudice going on between the upper stands, the people living in the field’s huts, and even further to the unlucky drifters who barely eked out a living on the wood-and-cardboard streets. Sammie wondered once or twice if she had come down with some sort of chronic Helping People disorder, because it wasn’t long before she could no longer just sit idly by and keep resting, had to offer a hand here and there when she could spare the time and effort.

It was small things mostly, like helping Sheng clean out the water purifier, offering one of Codsworth’s condensed water cans to a beggar, or taste-testing Vadim’s new moonshine recipes (something which she _didn’t_ volunteer to do again). It was on the fourth day that something she did actually amounted to something, though.

She had been chatting with Mav while he was on intercom duty within the entrance gate when the speaker crackled to life, and stepped aside to let him handle it. However, some things you couldn’t help but overhear.

“Hello? This is Harrison Straus. I-I’d like to come in if possible, and there’s… A problem I thought was prudent to let you guys know about.”

Even with the baseball helmet on, Sammie could imagine the puzzled look on Mav’s face.

“Wait, Harrison? Long-time no-see! I’ll get the gate open immediately!”

It soon became apparent exactly what the “problem” the person on the other side of the gate had mentioned was.

“D-Diane?” Mav and one other guard that Sammie wasn’t acquainted with went to meet this Harrison at the entrance, and Sammie hung back to observe. He was an older looking man, heavily tanned and starting to lose some of his blonde hair, with a surprisingly full beard twisted into a single braid that reached his collarbone. A captain’s hat, no doubt looted from a boat somewhere, was perched on top of his head, and his outfit was a touch ridiculous consisting of slacks, riding boots, and a _waistcoat_ of all things, but much more attention-grabbing was the patchwork-cloaked figure shrinking behind him.

“Yeah, _it’s me_. Feel free to keep pointing that out,” the other person announced bitterly and pulled her hood tighter around her head. The voice somehow high-pitched yet gravelly at the same time, and now Sammie’s curiosity was perked well beyond the point of being able to politely stand back.

As she approached, the guards starting offering condolences and apologising, causing both of the newcomers to sigh.

“Yeah, we know. No ghouls in Diamond City,” Harrison muttered. “We still have to let you guys know at least–”

“What happened, though? I mean, I’m glad you’re both alive and well, since the alternative…” Mav trailed off when he realised he had cut Harrison off, but the man just waved to signal it was okay.

“Some prick decided to hide a nuke mine along one of our routes!” The woman spat, ripping her hood off in anger to reveal that she was indeed a ghoul. The grey eyes and peeling skin were obvious, and Sammie froze to prevent herself from flinching. “Probably one of those self-righteous mobsters from Goodneighbour, too! Can’t just let a merchant keep going about an honest day’s work unless they buy ‘ _protection_ ’!”

Her companion set about trying to calm her down, mumbling something and patting her on the shoulder. The ghoul huffed and crossed her arms, turning away, but she backed down from her tirade regardless.

“Look, uh, I know we can’t get into the city now, but I have to at least ask for help,” Harrison implored, “Our guards. They ditched us once they realised what was happening to my sister, so when a group of raiders jumped us while we were on our way to Vault 81, the only thing we could do was dump our stock and run!”

“That sounds terrible!” Sammie spoke up now, causing a few glances her way.

“Ah, shit.” Mav agreed, but his tone of voice didn’t indicate that the answer to their inevitable question was going to be one they liked.

“We need to get at least _some_ of it back. Our camping supplies were on that brahmin. I… I know it’s a big ask, but could Security spare anyone? If not to help us, then because those raiders were way too close to the Jewel for comfort.”

The guards clearly _wanted_ to help, but ultimate they had a job to do, and that was to keep Diamond City patrolled. Gallivanting off while on duty would be a sure way to get their asses fired, even if raiders had somehow gotten themselves set up nicely just a stone’s throw away. Apparently the chances of the mayor authorising anyone under his payroll to go and deal with them were pretty slim, so the best bet would be to post a bounty and wait with fingers crossed for someone brave enough to try dealing with them. It wasn’t particularly surprising that shoulders started slumping progressively lower and lower on all sides of the discussion as it continued.

That was, at least, until Sammie couldn’t keep her big mouth shut.

“I could help.”

“Waitwut?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Woah, Hartwell. Slow down there!” Mav exclaimed, actually pulling his goggles up to peer at her better. “I know a single crew of raiders aren’t exactly a vault full of Goodneighbour thugs, but don’t go getting carried away!”

The man’s genuine concern was admittedly heartwarming, but it was too late. She could already feel a plan formulating in her head.

“Hey… Harrison, was it? You said it looked like they had holed up in an alleyway to the north of here, right?”

“Yeah, we had a snoop around in the early hours of the morning. They’ve barricaded themselves in like you wouldn’t believe.” Harrison sighed. “That’s why we came here. There’s no way the two of us are breaking in there with just some laser pistols.”

“Yes, but they’re still in a cramped little alleyway, right?”

“Oh god. Jerry was right,” the other guard muttered, then leaned towards Mav and lowered his voice. “Where’s she going with this?”

“Don’t look at me,” he responded, “I don’t know Vault Dweller logic.”

Behind Harrison, Diane snuck a glance over her shoulder, studying Sammie closely.

“If I remember this area right, and not too many buildings have collapsed…” She grinned at the pair suddenly, placing her hands on her hips triumphantly. “So, how many caps do you have on you? I’ve got an idea…”

 

* * *

 

Explosives.

The idea was explosives.

About an hour later, the two merchants (they were brother and sister, she learned while they were walking) were crouched on a rooftop, unloading every last grenade and bottle of moonshine Sammie and Harrison could buy with what caps the Strausses had managed to keep hold of while fleeing the ambush. Just a few metres north – and at least a dozen down – the sounds of someone having a particularly bad reaction to some sort of drug while his or her companions laughed drifted up from the raiders’ hideout.

“Oh, man. I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Diane could barely contain her own laughter as she ripped apart a shirt and slipped the rags into each booze bottle her brother handed her. “I don’t know if Vadim’ll be proud or disgusted!”

“Shh!” Harrison shushed her, freezing and nervously glancing to the edge of the roof. He was significantly less giddy at the prospect of going through with this idea.

On the next rooftop over, partially hidden behind an air duct, Sammie removed her eye from the scope of her rifle, slung it back over her shoulder, and crept over to meet up with them while pulling her jacket on tighter. The wind was pretty darn chilly up here. “Alright, I was able to make out three guys in there,” she said in a hushed whisper, “the angle’s too steep to get a better look, though.”

“We are so dead.” Harrison gulped, then ran his hand down his face. “But… What other choice do we have?”

“Can you even _hear_ those guys, Harry? They’re tripping balls so hard they won’t be able to tell the explosions from their own hallucinations!”

“Y-yeah, but– I. I don’t.” Harrison groaned, messaging his temples.

“I get why you’re worried, but please, I promise you we’re in as safe a position as we can get,” Sammie assured him. “If any of them _do_ manage to find us, I may have left a couple of surprises for them along the only ladders up here.”

Harrison seemed to relax a little, and meanwhile Diane’s grin turned downright unnaturally large, likely afforded by the partial rotting away of her lips. The ghoul almost clapped when she realised what Sammie meant by “surprises”, but opted to wave her hands spastically as a quieter, alternative way to express her glee.

Twenty minutes later, she was free to be as loud as she pleased.

“Bwa-hahahaha-HAH! That’ll teach you to mess with the Strausses!”

Sammie winced as the ghoul literally kicked a decapitated limb across the alleyway that lead into the raiders’ hideout, and she risked a sideways glance to Harrison. “Is she always..?”

“No, not really,” the man answered before she even had to finish the question, shaking his head and sighing. “Only when we’ve been having a bad day. It’s just that lately, _all_ we’ve been having are bad days.”

Sammie nodded in understanding, and readied her rifle as they approached a now hanging-ajar door in the fence that the raiders had thrown together with random pieces of scrap and junk. It would be a bit awkward to use a weapon meant for sniping in close quarters while they mopped up any survivors, but it was all she had right now, so it would have to do. Once all three of them were ready, Diane led the charge by kicking the entrance in, and her own rifle – a modified AER9 with an impressive beam splitter fitted to it – made short work of the one remaining bandit who had taken shelter among their stash of loot once the grenades started raining down.

Understandably, the brother-and-sister team were overjoyed to have their stuff back, even if it was now a bit a dinged up and slightly on fire. Fortunately, the raiders had at least been smart enough to store the fruits of their pillaging underneath a cement balcony, sparing the goods from the worst of the explosions and fiery doom.

Their brahmin hadn’t been quite so lucky. The trio found it a while later, already dead and midway through being butchered before they had even arrived.

“Great. We get our stock back, but now we have no way to move it.” Harrison tutted to himself while they picked through the wreckage, extinguishing any small fires they across before they could start to build up into something threatening, or removing pieces of meat that Sammie tried not to think about the origins of. “Obviously this is way better than our situation beforehand, but still.”

Diane was straightening up a handful of old, ragged bar stools by a charred rubbish bin and makeshift bar table when the idea evidently hit her.

“Y’know… Maybe we won’t _have_ to move it.”

Sammie gave her a questioning look, causing her to miss the knowing grin that was starting to spread over Harrison’s face. “Oh? You aren’t thinking of staying, are you?”

“Well, why wouldn’t we?” The ghoul grinned and plonked herself down on one of the stools, crossing one leg over the other and resting her rifle over her shoulder. “We even said it before – those assholes had this place pretty damn well fortified save for their not thinking to look up. All we have to do is clean up, eliminate any ways of getting up onto the roof, and bam! Diamond City trading without having to put up with Diamond City _people_!”

She bared her teeth wider to the point where it looked unsettlingly close to splitting her already raw and stripped lips, and Sammie actually had to glance away, hoping she wasn’t too obvious about it. Diane clearly wasn’t used to the entire ghoul thing yet.

“There’s the Diane I know,” Harrison said with a smirk, but soon looked to Sammie. “That does, however, bring up the issue of keeping in one piece until then… I don’t know if any more raiders live here. I know we’re still relatively close to some Security patrols, but I’d rather it not just be the two of us here if anyone comes home from a day of killing and pillaging later.”

His sister mirrored the look, and Sammie pressed her lips together as she quickly processed through the unasked question. She had already risked too much by helping out in the first place, and wasn’t exactly a bodyguard even if she didn’t already have her own plans for later on, but she couldn’t just leave these two out here…

“I… I’m sorry, I…” She trailed off, diverting her gaze away to spare herself the inevitable looks of disappointment. “I’ve already done enough that I’m likely to get absolutely roasted for endangering myself when I’m _meant_ to be resting, a-and…”

In her search for anything other than the man and woman before her to look at, Sammie’s gaze fell across what appeared to be an old television antenna pinched off the roof of some disused house. She stared at it for a moment, missing the confused looks Diane and Harrison gave each other, and then her eyes lit up.

“Wait! Never mind. I’ve got a better idea!” Now it was her turn to grin manically, and she lifted one leg to plant her heel on the foot rail of one of the bar stools triumphantly. “What do you guys know about the Minutemen?”

“The Minutemen? What _doesn’t_ anyone know?” Diane deadpanned.

Her brother elaborated. “They were one thing keeping the entire Commonwealth barely-habitable… But then they all feel apart, and now everything and everyone else is following suit.”

So word of the Minutemen getting back up and running hadn’t made it this far south yet? That was a complication, but it could be worked around, they just needed to get in contact with Preston or Sturges somehow. The last time she had managed to pick up on their frequency had been in Cambridge somewhere, so maybe if they got back up onto the rooftops…

Sammie changed her grin into a smirk. “Well then! Let’s see if we can find an old radio around here, some duct tape, and one of those microfusion cells, because have I got a surprise for you!”

Admittedly, it would be a lot longer than a minute’s notice between them managing to get a transmitter working and when the first Minutemen recruits would start arriving from one of their new settlements further north, but not all big, world-changing events have to start with next-to-no notice and a big boom.

Sometimes, much smaller explosions dispensed upon a lone group of miscreants were more than enough.


	2. Memories Old and Older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in the Wasteland has, so far, proven to be an endless stream of questions where trying to get answers for one just results in four or five more popping up. Fortunately, the Memory Den proves to be one of those rare locations that provides more answers than queries, since as it turns out, looking to the past can do more than just bring on feelings of loss and longing, instead providing reassurance and paving a path for the future.
> 
> Especially when there are more relics from said past still around and kicking than you thought.

When the wrong voice came out of Nick Valentine’s mouth, Sammie practically died right then and there, because after the ordeal of reliving her husband’s demise through the perpetrator’s eyes, she was well and truly past the point of wishing she could erase the very concept of a panic attack from the fabric of space-time. It was downright unfair, to be honest: The struggle to keep her head on straight enough that Amari wouldn’t pull her out before the memory dive yielded any results had been difficult enough without new complications arising now she was back in the real world.

Difficult enough that the only thing which had ultimately allowed her to keep it all together had been the mysterious appearance of an unfamiliar, disembodied voice with a vaguely Midwestern accent, reassuring her and walking her through the steps to restabilise both her own consciousness and the memory. She didn’t even question it anymore, just relaxed into the gentle, imaginary touch on her shoulder and along her back, and rolled with the latest in a long conga line of surprises the Commonwealth thrown at her.

But now?

Now the final, fleeting, electrical sparks that made up the last trace of Kellogg’s existence just _had_ to leave her one final “fuck you”, and _just_ when she was only starting to come back to a reasonable state of mind, too.

The Vault Dweller set her jaw, determined not to let this break the paper-thin walls she had managed to start rebuilding around herself. Instead, she directed any emotional response she could into rapidly scrutinising the synth for any further sign that he was no longer himself, not wanting to face the prospect of losing him now she had finally reached a point where the hairs on the back of her neck didn’t stand up in his mechanical presence.

Nick himself seemed pretty unfazed by the event, citing that he had been warned that there may be some side-effects for a few minutes following them both being unplugged, and assured her that whatever she had seen or heard, it would temporary. So, as Sammie had sworn she would finally get herself into the habit of doing, she took a deep breath and reassured herself that his judgement was trustworthy. After all, it had proven to be so on many more occasions than just once, now.

Which was just as well, because she really needed the detective’s opinion on something else that was troubling her.

“I’m… Not sure if you saw anything while we were under, but,” she started, squinting slightly, “We have to head somewhere called the ‘Glowing Sea’. Doctor Amari sounded a bit concerned about that… Any advice?”

Worryingly, Nick’s brows were furrowing in concern before she even finished her sentence. “The Glowing Sea…” He mulled over the name unnervingly slowly, and Sammie was starting to get the foreboding impression that everything she had done up until this point was going to prove child’s play compared to whatever was ahead. “Huh. Well I guess this is the part where you get to say ‘I told you so’,” he answered dryly, actually looking a touch guilty as he stood up.

“Oh?”

“About the Brotherhood of Steel…” Nick elaborated, rolling his jaw and crossing his arms, “I’m a synth, so radiation like that in the Sea isn’t much of an issue for me, but you? Unless you somehow have a magic, bottomless bag with which to carry every last bottle of Rad-X and RadAway in the Commonwealth, those zealots may just be our best bet: An old suit of Power Armour would be just the guardian angel you’re looking for, and the Brotherhood has them in spades.”

He gestured to Righteous Authority, holstered at Sammie’s hip and now significantly shorter than when she had gotten it. “You said you helped some of them out before you reached Diamond City. Achievements in ignorance… But regardless: Get in cushy with them, and they might just be willing to let you use one.”

Sammie bit her lip in the place of wincing. She and Valentine had gotten into a bit of an argument upon seeing that airship shortly after leaving Fort Hagen, the Brotherhood’s display of power having drastically different effects on the wasteland newbie who had her foot in their proverbial door and the mechanical veteran who was in their proverbial crosshairs. After getting back to Diamond City a more mature discussion had been held, where they agreed to wait and see what other ideas they could come up with – and find out why the tech-hoarding quasi-military unit were even here in the first place – before Sammie tried making any choices she might later regret.

“It’s certainly an idea…” Sammie admitted: The Brotherhood definitely had the sort of resources one would assume such an undertaking as finding the Institute would require. “Let’s give it more thought later, though. My head still hurts too much for decision making.”

Nick chuckled. “Sure thing. This’s been one heck of a ride so far, so I don’t blame you at all. Now let’s catch you some shut-eye and then see where it takes us next.”

At first Sammie was curious about Nick’s mention of sleep, but orange was indeed streaking across the sky once they stepped out of the Memory Den and into the cut-throat, junk-wall-barricaded, and tommy-gun town that was Goodneighbour.

And Goodneighbour itself was… Well…

Let’s just say that the name was non-indicative.

As they made their way down the main street the town was built around, heads down and eyes sharp, Sammie was honestly unsure if she was more concerned about Nick and his “mnemonic impression” or the locals. They had already made an _excellent_ first impression on her, one that suggested there was a high probability of someone else trying something funny: After all, walking in to be greeted by an attempted shake-down only to have no one less than the _mayor_ _himself_ casually stab your would-be assailant three times in broad daylight, wasn’t something that happened just anywhere.

Sammie had needed a good minute to get her wits back about her afterwards, but Valentine hadn’t even flinched. He and this Hancock character had even had a short, casual chat before she and the detective continued on their way, the latter restating his earlier warnings that this place was nothing like Diamond City. Sammie didn’t need any further explanation than that to understand entirely why Nick claimed to avoid the place unless work absolutely demanded it.

It turned out that she didn’t need to be on her guard quite as much as she expected to, because there was no one to be seen within a stone’s throw of the Memory Den or nearby hotel at this time in the evening. In fact, it seemed like the town’s entire population all were crammed into a small courtyard by the Old State House.

“GOODNEIGHBOUR!” A roar that could only be described as the new world equivalent of patriotic fervour rolled from the group, and she glanced to Nick to see if he had anything to offer. The synth was already studying them, the sound of the mayor’s voice now filtering from the balcony, and he tilted his head to Sammie with a chuckle.

“Things around here may be rough-‘n’-tumble, but John always knows exactly what his people need to keep spirits up and relations smooth.” The crowd let out a second cheer and he waited for it to die down before he finished his thought. “Or, well, at least what passes for smooth in these parts.”

Hancock’s first name was _John_? Sammie tried and failed to stop herself from groaning while Nick held the Rexford’s door open for her, snickering at her reaction as he followed her through.

“Well, this might just be the thuggiest place I’ve ever seen, but at least the boss has a sense of humour _and_ respect for history!” She wasn’t even entirely sure if she was being serious or not at this point.

“Heh. A sense of humour is putting it lightly,” Nick said, then decided to elaborate in the least helpful way possible. “I won’t spoil anymore surprises for ya’, but I will say you’ve got nothing to fear in Goodneighbour from Hancock, at least. Don’t get me wrong: He’s about as dangerous as they come, but that man’s heart is ultimately in the right place, so you keep doing what you’ve been doing and you’ll be fine.”

“Right then.” Sammie nodded, more out of weariness and not wanting to drag the topic out any further than agreement, and took the lead on the way to the counter so that she could purchase a room. The receptionist made a snide remark about her only requesting a single-bed room, and then laughed at the unimpressed look Sammie responded with while Nick rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I kid, I kid. We _all_ know this bucket of bolts for just lurking ominously in the hallways at night. If it weren’t for you and his other clients, we’d never see a single cap outta’ him!”

“Well in that case, I might see if Rufus has any oil he’d be interested in parting with for a couple. _Just for you_ ,” Nick responded lazily, after which the older woman handed Sammie a key and shooed them away with a chuckle.

Typically, the room Sammie got was all the way up on the top floor, and from what she could tell the Rexford didn’t have any elevators – or least working ones – so by the time she reached said floor she was starting to feel her headache coming back. Amari hadn’t been joking when she said it was probably best to turn in early after that debacle in Kellogg’s metaphorical head.

The room was at the end of the hallway, and the key slid into the lock surprisingly cleanly to reveal your pretty standard post-apocalyptic hotel room. A bed stood in the corner with a nightstand and radio, with faded yellow curtains covering a single window and some of the wooden planks in the wall revealed by its plaster crumbling away. A lonesome chair had been placed by said window with a stool, which itself had been repurposed into a makeshift table, a mirror behind it and an empty flower pot sitting in its centre.

“If there’s one thing Hutchins knows how to do, it’s making an atmosphere,” Nick commented over the sound of another door opening. “Unfortunately for her, said atmosphere is that of a seedy roadhouse motel where the unfaithful used to meet up behind their spouses’ backs way back when. At least it’s befitting the location, I guess.”

Sammie frowned slightly. There it was again, Valentine making some throwaway comment about old world clichés that left the urge to make him elaborate niggling at the back of her head. This time, however, there wasn’t some loud-mouth crow to stop her from attempting to pry some more info out of the synth, so she turned to face him with a sly grin.

Nick gave her a dry, questioning look, but her attention was immediately grabbed by the figure she could see over his shoulder doing a double-take and gaping.

“W-what? No. It can’t. It… It’s– it’s _you!_ From Sanctuary Hills?!”

Sammie felt her own mouth fall open a touch, and Nick blinked in confusion before following her gaze. He turned to look behind him, then glanced back at her over his shoulder, stepping aside to move out of the way.

“Do you two know each other?” The synth questioned.

“No? At least I don’t think–” Sammie started, but then when she squinted, her mind suddenly filled in the ragged blanks that ghoulification had left and revealed the bright, optimistic man who this downtrodden stranger had once been.

Now it was her turn to gape properly.

“Wait. Y-you don’t happen to have worked for Vault-Tec, do you?”

“I _am_ Vault-Tec!” The ghoul practically shouted, prompting Nick to reach for the internal coat pocket he kept his revolver in, but the flare of anger dissipated just as quickly as it had come on and he mellowed out. “O-or at least _was_! Twenty years of loyal service and now look at me! I wasn’t even on the list! But you? Look at you! Two hundred years and you’re still perfect. How? How’s that possible?!”

“Oh boy,” Nick commented, allowing his hand to fall back to his side, “This is gonna be an interesting conversation…”

Sammie grimaced, knowing all too well what the synth meant. “I… Guess I’ll give you the short version: The vault was some sort of cryo experiment. I only thawed out a few weeks ago.”

Just as Nick predicted, the ghoul’s eyebrows – or what now passed for them – shot up and he exclaimed in surprise. While he mulled over what she had said, trying to wrap his head around it, Sammie found herself feeling surprised and a touch curious as well.

“Wait… You didn’t know? Huh, I guess the rumours about even most of Vault-Tec being in the dark about their little ‘slices of heaven’ were true.” It was Nick who spoke up, evidently having the same theory as Sammie.

They discussed this topic for a couple of minutes, Sammie using a lapse in the conversation to fill Nick in about how she and the man before them had met briefly before the bombs fell. The synth looked intrigued, but didn’t say anything more, because that was when things evidently got to be too much for their newfound acquaintance.

“Look at me! I’m a ghoul – a freak! _I_ had to get to the future the long way, living through the… The filth! The decay and bloodshed! And now, after all that?” The torn skin and exposed muscles of his face warped into a look of pure despair, and Sammie felt something in her stomach twist that wasn’t just her instinctive desire to look away. “No Commonwealth settlement wants a ghoul with two hundred years of Vault-Tec sales experience. So here I am! Just… _Existing!_ In a slum! All alone!”

Valentine gave a sympathetic look. “Seems simple existence is the most a lot can get nowadays… But hey, try to keep optimistic, alright? The fact you’re even trying puts you a cut above most folks.”

“Uh. Thanks, I guess,” the ghoul responded, still as despondent as before.

Sammie peered out of the corner of her eye to Nick in the ensuing silence, finding the synth’s expression to be similarly morose. It was a feeling she knew all too well, wanting to be able to help but not having the time or resources to do…

Wait a minute.

“Hey?” she asked, getting the salesman’s attention, “You know, you could head back to Sanctuary. There’re people living there now, trying to get the Minutemen back up and running. I’m sure they’d welcome another able pair of hands to help out.”

“What. The Minutemen? Really?” He seemed to think for a moment, during which Valentine’s gaze fell firmly on Sammie, his expression unreadable. “Huh, I heard rumours they were back in some way… But, not everyone’s cut out for the militia.”

“I never said anything about having to pick up a gun. Besides, every organisation needs someone who knows a thing or two about marketing,” Sammie quickly countered, smiling reassuringly, “I also know some guys who are trying to set up a trading post with the Minutemen just north of Diamond City, spreading the word in exchange for protection. They don’t have any problem with ghouls, and I’m sure they’d be happy to meet a fellow businessman.”

“I… Huh… Are you serious? That’s a high traffic area…” He fell quiet, thinking and flicking his attention back and forth between Sammie and his feet. “You know… You’re the only other person I’ve met from… Before. I, uh… I’ll think about it.”

Sammie nodded, understanding, missing the brief flicker of yellow as the detective’s eyes slipped to the ghoul and back again. “It’s your life, so it’s your choice. I’m based near Diamond City at the moment, and while I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to Sanctuary next, I did promise I’d visit again. So who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other.”

“O-okay! And you said that’s a promise, right? So yeah, maybe we will!”

Nick smiled as well at the ghoul’s sudden change in demeanour. “That’s the spirit.”

They said their goodbyes and the Vault-Tec representative proceeded downstairs to do whatever it was he had been planning to do before they spotted each other, so Nick and Sammie continued with their own plan, the former lighting up a cigarette and leaning against a wall for a thoughtful gaze out the window while the latter unpacked her possessions and laid out her sleeping bag over the bed. By the time Sammie had sorted everything out and was starting to think about heading downstairs to buy some dinner, Nick was lost deep in thought.

“Hey, Valentine?”

“Hrm?”

“You okay?” She asked, slinging the little messenger bag she kept her caps in over her shoulder. “You’re seeming a bit more ‘distant and mysterious’ than usual.”

The synth snorted in amusement. “Yeah, I’m fine. Today’s just given us a lot to think about. Between Kellogg, all the dirt on the Institute, and the whole other can of worms that’s the Glowing Sea and how on earth we’ll get there and back alive, I’m certainly not gonna be getting bored tonight while everyone else snores away.”

He flashed a wide grin, and while that niggling feeling in the back of Sammie’s head was back again, she accepted the answer. Whatever it was that Nick was _really_ pondering, if it was serious enough Sammie was sure he would bring it up when the time was right.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, patience pays off sooner than you expect, and the next morning revealed itself as one of those occasions. Valentine had done his usual trick of checking in on her to see how she was handling everything, but this time his reasoning for doing so was different to his normally cited reason of just, well, _being Nick Valentine_.

“The conversation last night just got me thinking, is all.” Nick shrugged, leaning back in the chair by the window and propping his feet up on the nearby stool while Sammie collected her possessions into her backpack. “The man had a point: There aren’t many people out there who understand what things were like before it all got blown to hell. It can get pretty damn lonely when no one has any shared experiences with ya’. So… That’s kinda why I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to have a bit of a chat before we get going.”

“Oh?” Sammie answered without even really thinking, her curiosity piqued. She looked up from trying to shake her sleeping bag back into its carry sling to see Nick abandoning his previous carefree posture in favour of setting his feet flat on the ground and leaning on his knees, all serious now but not quite enough for it be concerning.

“Yeah. Even before, I was starting to have some concerns about, uh, _equitable distribution of information_ ,” the synth explained, grinning sheepishly, “We’ve been working together a couple of weeks now, and I’ve had ample opportunity to dig through your dirty laundry, but the same can’t really be said for vice-versa.”

The synth shrugged in a jilted manner, his smile becoming somehow even more awkward and even a touch guilt-ridden, but Sammie felt no reason to be mad at him for keeping to himself until now. No, all she felt was a small, delicate clasp of curious excitement within her chest at finally having the chance to answer all the little questions that had been popping up in the back of her mind during her time spent with the detective.

“If that’s an offer of an infodump, consider me all ears.” She grinned back at Valentine, then put down the sleeping bag so she could turn around to face him and sit down on the bed, folding her hands in her lap. Nick scratched at his cheek, glancing away, but nodded.

“Heh. Well I wouldn’t have worded it like that, but yeah. Basically, I… Just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone in all this: It doesn’t take being a detective to know you’ve started gathering your own little collection of suspicions about me, so time to come clean.”

The synth relaxed significantly as he spoke this, and Sammie imagined that his coming to terms with the decision to cough up might have something to do with that. Also to blame was that ever-present air of teasing that had crept into their interactions right from the get-go, if the smirk spreading across Nick’s features was any indication: The line about Sammie having her suspicions about him was as obvious a dare as they came, only this time, he actually intended to answer.

So naturally, Sammie obliged.

“So tell me then, Mister Valentine, how does a synth know about secret meetings in cheap, old motels, or the uniquely ear-splitting challenges of Chihuahua ownership?”

At her facetious smirk and mockingly raised eyebrows, Nick chuckled dryly.

“Well, you said you were ‘all ears’ for an infodump, so time to get ready for just that. Because the truth of the matter is that I know how isolating your situation can be because it’s practically my situation, too.” The synth shrugged half-heartedly, then forced a sad smile while Sammie leaned forward, just in case the fact she was listening with her full attention hadn’t been obvious enough before.

“You’re from before the war, too? I knew I was on to something!”

“Heh. You’re right about being on to something at least, but not quite. While we all know the Institute came about from the remnants of CIT, back when they still went by that name they weren’t making synths yet,” Nick responded, holding his hands out flat before him. “I guess the best way to go about this would be to start from the beginning, so… Here goes.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, Sammie squirrelled away every shred of information she could for future reference as Nick explained what he knew about his past: About his belief in being a prototype coming from how he has the memories of a police detective from Sammie’s time, who went to CIT for some form of brain scan roughly a month before that fateful October morning. While technically nothing like Sammie’s own journey to the present, the synth’s previously-surprising amount of understanding for Sammie’s situation came to make a lot more sense in light of the fact he, too, had once woken up confused and lost in an unfamiliar world, decades having flown by in what seemed to be the blink of an eye.

She had to admit that waking up in Vault 111 didn’t seem quite so bad in comparison to Valentine’s recounting of having to dig his way out of a landfill.

“Hey now, I’m not trying to turn this into a competition!” Nick exclaimed, the cigarette he had lit earlier almost falling from his mouth. “Your problems aren’t any less legitimate just ‘cause I’ve happened to be around the block a few times.”

“Oh, no! No! I wasn’t trying to suggest that!” Sammie rapidly backtracked. “I just wanted to… I’unno. Have something more substantial than ‘oh that’s horrible’ to add to the conversation. I mean, it’s not like many people even _can_ , so, uh. Yeah.”

Her sentence turned into more of a half-formed mumble midway through, the Vault Dweller trying to find the right words to describe what she was thinking, but Nick nodded his acceptance without her having to finish.

“Don’t worry about it, I get what you mean.” He leaned back, resting the cigarette between his metal fingers in thought. “Hell… To be perfectly honest, the idea of having someone around who can ‘get’ it is actually kinda nice.”

“You’re not wrong,” Sammie said, then continued to elaborate when the detective gave a quizzical look. “Obviously I didn’t _know_ yet, but you’ve been a massive help the past fortnight or so, Nick. I guess you’ve been speaking from experience whenever you throw a bit of advice my way?”

“That’s certainly one way you can put it,” the synth agreed, “When you’ve been kicking around as long as I have, it’s hard not to pick up a few tips and tricks for the road. And I suppose that applies double when there’re some shared experiences.” He smiled then, genuinely this time. “Though, speaking of the road, we should probably get some sort of move on now. We can continue talking on the go. You know how hotel managers can get if their customers aren’t gone by check-out time.”

Sammie laughed and moved to stand up. “Sounds fine to me. Was starting to get a bit hungry anyway, so maybe we can cover how you went from dumpster diving to detective-ing over breakfast?”

“Hah!” Sammie’s comment manage to pry a small bark of laughter from him, so she jotted that one down as a victory. “Sure thing, just as long as you’re willing to spill some more beans on how you went from microwave meal to Minutemen spokeswoman.” The synth stood as well, popping his smoke back into his mouth where it would continue to burn uselessly for the next couple of minutes and adjusting his hat, flashing Sammie a devious grin.

She smirked back, nodding as she picked up the last of her supplies to go into the backpack.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Just… Thanks again for everything, Nick.”

Valentine’s expression softened.

“You’re welcome, Sam.”


End file.
